Untitled
by mugiwaragrl
Summary: Prussia should've died in 1932, or 1947 at the most. But he wanted to stay alive, and so he did - until now. There's only one last person he wants to talk to.


Inspired in/best when read with: Cancer by My Chemical Romance: watch?v=fQ9o6dN50fI

Tumblr post: post/52838232191/another-fanfic

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The day it happened had been full of stress for Roderich Edelstein. All day there had been a ridiculously long world conference, which had taken many more hours than usual to end in the predictable pandemonium.

Well, at least he had finally arrived home. He sat down in front of his piano and sighed in relief as the familiar Chopin music sheet waited for him, almost beckoning. He cleared his throat - though just as a habit, he wasn't going to sing - and started playing. The relaxing sensation of his fingers pressing every key with precision, and producing flawless tunes, was one of the mundane pleasures he lived for. The beauty of this particular piece, in his opinion, was incomparable to any other composer including himself.

He closed his eyes peacefully as he struck the last key, and it was over way too quickly for him.

"Roderich?"

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he heard the familiar voice behind him, though it wasn't obnoxiously loud as usual. "What are you doing here, Preuβen?" he huffed. He had to admit, though, that there was something strange with the ex-nation today. Since when did he call him by his name, and not one of those derisive nicknames?

Gilbert looked down apologetically, which supported Roderich's point. "Sorry, the door was open," he said, smiling slightly.

Roderich sighed. "Alright, what's wrong?" he asked, irritated by his cryptic behavior.

"What? Nothing!" He laughed nervously, but half-heartedly. It was too easy to see through him, and Roderich frowned to prove his disbelief. Gilbert gave up and sighed. "I'm just… tired, Roderich," he said, with a rare hint of sadness in his voice.

He was even more confused and irritated. "Go take a nap!" he scoffed.

"No, I'm… I'm tired of fighting." Slowly, he walked to the piano, and for some reason, Roderich noticed he was walking shakily. He was starting to get worried.

"Fighting?" he said slowly, still not quite grasping what was so grave.

Gilbert sat beside him on the bench, facing the opposite way. "It's been more than fifty years. I should've died then, but no, now it's eating me from the inside. It's like human cancer, you know…"

Roderich let him rant on, slowly understanding. He was depressed because he shouldn't exist anymore. At least, that's what he thought until Gilbert suddenly lurched forward and started coughing violently.

"Preuβen. Preuβen, what's happening?!" he said, panicking.

"I-It's okay!" As soon as it had started, it was over. Gilbert sat up again, holding his stomach, and breathed deeply. "I'm too awesome to go… before I'm done…"

Then it hit him full-on. "You're… dying?" Austria finally said, horrified.

Prussia took a while to respond, looking at anywhere but him. When he spoke, he did it so silently, so gently, so unlike the Gilbert everyone knew. "Yeah. I'm dying."

He cleared his throat and spoke up. "Should be dead already, but fate had me suffer all these damn years."

Not knowing how to react, Roderich stared blankly. He didn't know what to think. What was he to do of it, when his arch-nemesis yet best friend was dying? Hi couldn't process it. As a nation, none of his acquaintances had ever died, and he never socialized enough with mortal to make them good friends. Aside from Holy Roman Empire, who he hadn't been to close to anyway, he had never in his lifetime lost anyone.

"Hey, I got something for you."

Gilbert's words brought him out of his trance. The silver-haired man pulled out some papers from his coat and handed them to Roderich. He took them and stared, taking more time than usual to decipher what it was.

"Music sheets?" he mumbled shakily.

"Could you please play it? It's my favorite song. I'll sing along, too."

"Slowly, Roderich nodded. He placed the sheets on top of the others and skimmed them, familiarizing himself with the melody first. Still in a state of shock, he started playing the soft melody, with a nice piano introduction.

"_Turn away,_" Gilbert sang, with a surprisingly gently voice. "_If you could get me a drink of water, 'cause my lips are chapped and faded. Call my aunt Marie._"

Roderich barely registered the words, letting them flood into his ears and rest in the back of his mind.

"_Help her gather all my things, and bury me in all my favorite colors, my sisters and my brothers. Still, I will not kiss you._"

Roderich looked up at these words, without stopping the melody, and found Gilbert's ruby eyes looking into his, full of pleading and regret. He wondered if the meaning of the lyrics were not as metaphorical as thy sounded.

"'_Cause the hardest part of this is leaving you._"

He let that sink in as he played the brief instrumental interlude, and all he could think of was this can't be happening.

"_Now turn away,_" Gilbert sang. "_'Cause I'm awful just to see, and all my hair's abandoned all my body. Oh, my agony_."

Agony. Was that how he felt, or was it just the song?

"_Know that I will never marry. Baby I'm just soggy from the chemo; I'm counting down the days to go. It just ain't living! And I just hope you know…_"

So much feeling into the song, yet such a weak, helpless voice.

"_That if you say goodbye today, I'd ask you to be true, 'cause the hardest part of this is leaving you._"

There it went again. With the look Gilbert was giving him, Roderich was now sure it was exactly what it sounded like.

"_'Cause the hardest part of this…_" he faltered. "_Is leaving… you…_"

His body slackened and he fell forward limply, Roderich breaking the melody to catch him just in time. "G-Gilbert?" he mumbled, fear flooding his voice. With a little effort, ha laid him down on the piano bench and kneeled beside him. His eyes were half-lidded, and his breathing dangerously shallow. "Gilbert, answer me!" he whimpered.

Then a hand weakly gripped the back of his head and eased him closer. He followed, slightly taken aback, and found his face hovering an inch over Gilbert's.

"I…" Gilbert's voice was incredibly weak, barely more than a pained whisper. "I said… I wouldn't kiss you…" he uttered. Then, to his surprise, he forced a little smile. "G-Guess I lied…"

Roderich was wide-eyed in surprise, but he didn't object when their lips joined in a warm kiss. Sweet, weak, hopeless kiss. Why was he even allowing this? Was it only because of pity? Or did he actually love—

No. He couldn't allow those kinds of thoughts. Not anymore.

When he parted, his eyes were watering, but Gilbert still smiled weakly. "S-See?" he breathed. "Now… I-It's harder…"

Roderich clutched his shirt and rested his head on his chest, hiding his tears. "D-Don't go," he begged. "P-Please…!"

A cold hand brushed the back of his head. "I'm sorry…" Were those tears he heard in Gilbert's voice? "L-Little Master…" Those last words caught in his throat, and for a second, he froze. Then, Roderich let out a strangled cry of sorrow as the chest under him stopped heaving, and the hand on his head went limp.


End file.
